


breakaway

by bravebuttercups



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Modern Era, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-13 21:00:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14120718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bravebuttercups/pseuds/bravebuttercups
Summary: College couldn’t have been going better for Feyre - she’d gotten a full ride for cheerleading, her grades were stellar, and she had an amazing boyfriend whom she adored, even if she was getting a new roommate at an awkward point in the term. But when she learns about the circumstances surrounding this friendly stranger’s room reassignment, Feyre realizes that her idyllic life is little more than a nightmare in a pretty disguise. Modern college AU.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my babes Orianna, Cai, and Selina for being the best cheerleaders a girl could ask for. This verse wouldn't exist without the three of you.

Feyre loved flying.

Not in planes - never in planes. The idea of being trapped in an airplane for hours at a time, completely at the mercy of the pilot, terrified her. Putting her life in the hands of people she didn’t know, people she didn’t trust, wasn’t in her nature. 

But stunting with her team? That was a whole different story.

Feyre loved the rush of adrenaline, seeing the faces of everyone in the crowd and feeling the steady support of her teammates around her, the rush of wind during the dismount before she was being set back down on the ground. She had known after her first ever basket toss that cheerleading was the sport for her, and she thanked her lucky stars every day that Velaris University had thought she was good enough to offer her a full ride if she cheered for them. She was doing what she loved and getting an education for free because of it, and if that wasn’t enough, she was able to go to practice every day with her best friend so that they could cheer for her boyfriend together. 

She was a lucky girl, and she tried to remind herself of that fact as she half-heartedly listened to her roommate explain that she was moving out of their dorm.

“Sorry, I know it sucks to get a new roommate towards the end of the quarter, but ever since my parents got divorced my mom needs help wrangling all of my younger siblings under control,” Clare said, her voice apologetic as she tossed clothes into a suitcase. They hadn’t been the best of friends, Feyre and Clare, but they had gotten along well, and they had a system that worked - not everyone could say the same of their roommates. 

Feyre had been lucky with Clare, and that alone made her sad to see her go. 

“I get it,” Feyre said, and she did, she really did. “Family comes first, always.”

“Maybe you won’t even get a new roommate,” Clare said hopefully. “You could end up having the dorm all to yourself.”

Feyre smiled. “Fingers crossed.”

-/-

“Did I tell you that Clare’s moving out?” Feyre asked, motioning for an increase in pressure until her forehead was pressed flat against her legs. 

“Tam might have mentioned it,” Lucien said, removing his hands from Feyre’s back and sitting on the gym floor in front of her. “He told me you sounded stressed out about someone new moving in.”

Feyre raised her eyebrows and suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. “Usually I think it’s cute when he worries about me, but that’s a bit of a stretch. I think he’s more concerned than I am at this point. If I get a nice roommate, cool, but if I don’t, it’s not like I spend much time in my dorm anyway. I spend most of my free time at your apartment.”

“You know how he is,” Lucien said, shrugging. “Besides, he has the big game in two weeks to worry about.”

“They’ll win.” There was a confidence in Feyre’s voice that she almost didn’t recognize when she talked about Tamlin and the rest of the football team; as one of the few sophomores on the cheer team, she often felt that she had to earn her place, and knew that she worked harder than half of her teammates to stay in shape and be what everyone expected a VU cheerleader to be. 

It was exhausting, but it was worth it. Being able to go to school and cheer on her boyfriend made it worth it. 

“He told me to ask if you’re coming over once Captain Bitch ends practice.”

“I believe that’s Junior Captain Bitch, actually,” Feyre corrected, not even bothering to mask the disdain she felt for Ianthe. If ever there was someone who should not have been allowed to be in a position of authority, it was Ianthe. 

Personal biases aside, Feyre hated Ianthe purely because the latter insisted on sleeping her way through the males on the team. Feyre really could have cared less, if it had all been completely consensual. If asked, she had no doubt that all of the men Ianthe had slept with would say that they were willing participants, but she had a reliable source that had told her otherwise. 

Feyre was all too aware of the dangers of antagonizing one of the junior captains of the team, but when she caught Ianthe attempting to send a seductive smile Lucien’s way, she openly glared. She might not have been able to spare any of Ianthe’s other victims, but she could protect her friend. 

“Ignore her,” Lucien said, the words coming out rough instead of reassuring, as Feyre knew he’d intended. “She’s not worth our time.”

“How’d she even get to be junior captain, anyway?” Feyre asked. “She’s probably the worst flyer we have and her dancing is awful.”

Lucien grinned. “You mean you  _ don’t _ think that watching her writhe around the gym floor is a fantastic way to spend your time?” 

Feyre laughed and punched him in the shoulder. “Shut up.” She could feel Ianthe’s eyes burning a hole into the back of her head, but she wasn’t going to allow the other woman to dictate how she interacted with her friend. Ianthe could pout all she wanted; nobody else decided what Feyre could and could not do.

Lucien’s eyes, which had been laughing back at Feyre, suddenly focused on the entrance to the gym. “Tam’s here.”

“Tamlin’s here? Why?” Feyre couldn’t help her brows from furrowing as she looked over her shoulder to see her boyfriend casually leaning against the doorway. “I told him I’d call after practice, and he asked you to check if I was coming over.”

“Practice is running a little later than usual,” Lucien offered, waving a lazy hand in Tamlin’s direction. 

“I guess,” Feyre said dubiously, following Lucien’s example and waving at her boyfriend before going back to stretching. “He’s going to be bored, though, if we don’t get out of here soon.”

“Maybe if she notices we have an audience, Her Ladyship will relieve us from our duties.”

Feyre snorted and leaned forward, her voice dropping into conspiratorial whisper. “If you ask me, it’s high time for an impeachment.”

“Whatever you say, poly sci major,” Lucien said, smirking as he avoided Feyre’s half-hearted swing at him. 

Neither of them noticed the way Tamlin’s carefully neutral expression slipped into a frown as Ianthe told them they’d be running through partner stunts, or the way he stiffened as Lucien placed his hands on Feyre’s waist. 

-/-

“Hey, babe,” Feyre said cheerfully. Tamlin slung an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, despite the fact that she was covered in sweat and had never been a fan of public displays of affection. It made her acutely uncomfortable, but Tamlin was almost her polar opposite in that regard, so she compromised when she could.

“Yeah, hey, babe,” Lucien repeated with the same level of enthusiasm, snickering when both Feyre and Tamlin shot him withering glares. He dismissed Feyre’s without a second thought, but something in Tamlin’s eyes prompted him to stall so that he was walking on his roommate’s other side rather than next to Feyre. 

Feyre had to try hard to pretend not to notice. 

“How was practice?” Tamlin asked, pointedly not looking in Lucien’s direction. 

“As good as practice led by a would-be dictator can be,” Feyre quipped.

“Ianthe’s not that bad,” Tamlin protested, opening the passenger side door of his car for Feyre. “If you guys hung out with her outside of practice you’d know that.”

Feyre arched an eyebrow. “You have to say that. You’re in the same major. Solidarity and all that. And haven’t you known her since high school?”

“Middle school, actually,” Tamlin said stiffly. The apartment he shared with Lucien was only a few blocks from the university gym, but their practice had gotten out later than usual, and he didn’t want Feyre to be walking around in the dark, even if he and Lucien were with her. “She’s one of my oldest friends. You could at least try to like her.”

“I could,” Feyre agreed. “But I probably won’t. You have the whole childhood nostalgia thing working for you when you talk to her - we don’t.”

Tamlin sighed, his hands tightening around the steering wheel as he pulled into a parking space. “Can you try? For me?”

Feyre frowned, but she didn’t say anything about the way her boyfriend shifted into park with more force than was necessary. “Okay. I’ll try.”

“Thank you,” Tamlin said, his smile little more than a thin line as he motioned for Feyre to stay seated while he got out of the car and walked around to open her door for her. She was more than capable of opening her own damn door, but the protest died on her lips when she saw how tense her boyfriend was. 

She didn’t say anything when Tamlin interlaced their fingers and squeezed, even when it started to hurt.

-/-

“Clueless,” Feyre said, shifting from her spot on the couch to rest her head on Tamlin’s shoulder. 

“We watched Clueless last week,” Tamlin reminded her, idly running his fingers through her hair. “Maybe we could move out of the nineties tonight?”

“Fine,” Feyre said, grinning up at him. “How about Dirty Dancing?”

Tamlin chuckled and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You hate Dirty Dancing. You think it’s cheesy.”

“Yes, but it’s one of your favorite movies, so we should at least  _ consider _ having to endure Patrick Swayze teaching someone named  _ Baby _ how to dance.”

Lucien groaned from his spot on the floor, sprawled out in front of the TV as he sorted through their DVD collection. Feyre had tried (and failed) to convince one of them to get a Netflix account since she’d first started hanging out at their apartment, but both Tamlin and Lucien were surprisingly old school, and she’d had to learn to make her peace with it. 

“Will you two just pick a movie already?”

Tamlin laughed again, his arm loose around Feyre’s shoulders as she tucked herself further into him. She liked him like this; relaxed and easy-going, free to be affectionate in the comfort of his own living room. He’d been tense lately, the pressure from the football team growing to be a little too much this far into the season, and she wasn’t sure what she could do to help him carry what seemed like the weight of the world. 

“Let’s watch Clueless,” Tamlin said, his smile soft as Feyre clapped her hands. 

“Excellent choice.”

-/-

It was late when Feyre got back to her dorm, but she figured that since Clare had moved out and her new roommate wouldn’t be moving in for a couple of days, no one could complain. Tamlin drove her back and insisted on walking her to her door, lingering a little longer than was necessary. She was fairly certain that he was waiting for her to invite him inside, but she had class the next day, and so did he - a fact which she firmly reminded him of before kissing him goodnight and sending him on his way.

Something eased in her chest as Feyre watched Tamlin disappear around the corner of her hall, something that she didn’t care to dwell on. 

She let herself into her room, leaning against the door after it shut behind her, and contemplated whether it was worth taking a shower this late. When she opened her eyes, though, she found herself wondering if she’d left the light on the entire time she’d been at practice and then at Tamlin’s, and finally saw the boxes on Clare’s old side of the room.

“Hey,” Feyre said slowly, focusing on the girl methodically unpacking boxes and stowing clothes away in the other closet. “I’m Feyre.”

Her new roommate turned around, and Feyre blinked despite herself. The other girl was absolutely stunning in every way, but what caught Feyre's attention was the large bruise covering half of her face. 

“I’m Morrigan, but you can call me Mor.”  
  



	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated, as always, to my girls in the AIC squad.

“I’m Morrigan, but you can call me Mor.”

Feyre cleared her throat and sat down at the edge of her bed for only a brief moment before she stood up again. “Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting you to move in so...I wasn’t expecting you to move in tonight. Do you need help unpacking?”

Mor smiled over her shoulder, and Feyre could easily see the beauty she was, regardless of the bruise gracing her face. “That’d be great, thanks.”

Feyre nodded and glanced at the closet, quickly assessing how Mor was organizing her clothes before she started to help. One look told her that her roommate _wasn’t_ organizing her clothes, and the realization made Feyre chuckle. When Mor noticed, she grinned.

“Oh, yeah, I’m big on the whole ‘organized mess’ thing.”

“You don’t say,” Feyre said dryly.

Mor laughed, her features lighting up as she did so, but Feyre couldn’t help but think she was holding back.

“Sorry I got dumped on you in the middle of the quarter,” Mor said abruptly, tossing a pair of heels into the closet without waiting to see where they landed. “It was a pretty sudden thing, me moving back into the dorms.”

It was hard to keep the curiosity out of her voice. “Oh?”

From the way Mor grinned again, Feyre figured she hadn’t done a very good job.

“Yeah,” Mor said, her smile faltering as she talked. “I was living in one of the apartment buildings nearby and just...didn’t want to anymore. Couldn’t, I guess, which you could probably tell already, because of, you know. My face.”

Feyre knew better than to let any of the sympathy she was feeling show. If Mor was anything like her, she wouldn’t want anyone’s pity.

“Hey, I’m glad you’re here,” Feyre said, carefully keeping her attention on the sweater that she was folding. “Clare was great and all, but she was pretty quiet.”

“I am the opposite of quiet,” Mor reassured Feyre.

Feyre laughed and, having gone through all of the boxes, busied herself making Mor’s bed. “Seriously, though, it’s nice having you. I don’t have a ton of girl friends outside of the cheer team.”

“You’re a cheerleader? I know a couple of people on the team too! I haven’t talked to them since…” Mor’s voice trailed off, and she frowned before continuing. “But yeah, I can imagine that takes up a lot of your time. It doesn’t seem like there’s much room for socializing outside of practice.”

“Yeah, well,” Feyre said, her own voice quiet, “whatever free time I have I spend with my boyfriend.”

Feyre went back to tucking the comforter in, and missed the way Mor reached up to brush her fingers over her bruise when she said the word ‘boyfriend.’

-/-

That Friday, Velaris University’s football team lost the big game against their rival school.

It was a close game, with only a three point difference between the two teams, and an impressive feat, considering how half of VU’s starting line-up had been injured and they’d had to resort to putting in some of their second string players. It was a disappointing defeat, especially when they had been one field goal away from evening the playing field.

The cheer team, however, had excelled at the match. Their stunts had been flawless, their dance routine impeccable, and they’d had no trouble getting the crowd to cheer along with them. It wasn’t surprising, though. Everybody knew that VU students and alumni attended games to watch the cheerleaders - everybody, that is, except for the football team, and Feyre intended for it to stay that way.

A party had been planned to celebrate VU’s victory over Prythian State, a party that had quickly been converted to something more along the lines of “let’s get drunk and pretend this never happened” once the final score had been announced. Feyre wanted nothing more than to change into sweats and an oversized hoodie after her shower, but Tamlin insisted that he had to be at the party or risk losing face with his team, and strongly implied that if she was a supportive girlfriend, she’d go with him.

And so, Feyre found herself alternating between rummaging through her closet looking for something suitable to wear to a jock party, and cursing herself for not doing laundry the other day.

“You can borrow my clothes if you want,” Mor offered, already standing up. She stuck her head in her closet for a brief moment and emerged with a pile of clothes in her arms.

Feyre gaped as Mor tossed the pile onto her bed, sorting through dresses and skirts with practiced ease. “Oh, I couldn’t -”

“Don’t be silly. What are roommates for? Some of this stuff is too small for me now anyways, but it should be perfect for you. If you find something you really like, feel free to keep it.” Mor held up a black skirt and a pale pink top and tossed them at Feyre. “I don’t suppose you have thigh high boots to go with that?”

“Um, no?”

Mor laughed and spared Feyre’s feet a glance. “You look around my size. My shoes will probably be a little big for you but I don’t think it’ll be by much.”

“Bless you, honestly,” Feyre said, wriggling into Mor’s clothes as her roommate watched in amusement. “I need to carve out like three hours tomorrow to do my laundry. How do you always manage to have clean clothes?”

“Well, I could credit it all to my online shopping problem, but my cousin has a washer and dryer in his apartment and he can’t say no when I show up to do my laundry because we’re family.” Mor grinned and handed Feyre her shoes. “And he never says no to family.”

“God, I wish my sister was like that. I mean, I’m sure Elain would be fine with it, but she shares a place with two other girls and I wouldn’t want to impose. And Nesta definitely wouldn’t let me,” Feyre said, tugging on the boots with a little more force than was necessary.

“You don’t get along?”

Feyre shrugged and moved to the desk that alternated between acting as her vanity and a dumping ground for her art supplies. It took a moment to find the right drawer, but eventually she located her concealer and mascara, and if doing her makeup gave her an excuse to avoid looking at Mor while she talked about her family, it was purely coincidental.

“Elain and I get along okay, but Nesta...we’ve never been that close. Elain thinks it’s because we’re too similar to get into a conversation without arguing, and she probably has a point. But our relationship probably hit a low point last year when I moved out. Our dad finally decided to sell the house, and I don’t think Nesta’s forgiven him. Or me, for that matter.”

“How come?” Mor asked. Feyre paused, though, and she hurriedly added, “I’m so sorry, I’m prying, you don’t have to tell me.”

“No, it’s okay,” Feyre said, laughing a little as she brushed the mascara wand through her lashes. “I don’t really know, to be honest. Our mom passed away when I was pretty young, and out of all of us, Nesta was closest to her. Elain’s in a psychology class right now, and Nesta’s favorite, so she’d have more ideas than me about what goes on in our dear sister’s mind. I’m almost afraid to ask.”

Feyre stood and turned to face Mor, smiling almost shyly. “How do I look?”

“Absolutely gorgeous,” Mor said with a smile of her own. “And seriously, keep the whole outfit. It looks way better on you than it ever did on me.”

“That’s a lie,” Feyre replied, rolling her eyes. “You look stunning in everything. Hey, do you want to go to this party? The guys are going to be all mopey about losing, but it should still be fun.”

Since she’d moved in toward the beginning of the week, Mor hadn’t left the dorm much, other than for meals and classes. Feyre knew that she talked to her cousin almost every day, but other than that, Mor seemed to have grown into a recluse.

Feyre didn’t know the circumstances around the sudden move-in, and she didn’t want to ask, not until Mor was ready, but she was starting to worry. Mor was sweet, and friendly, and above all, genuine. Feyre would much rather spend time with her than half of the people on the cheerleading team, and said as much when she saw her roommate hesitate at accepting the invitation.

“Yeah, okay,” Mor said finally. “A party sounds fun.”

-/-

Feyre had forgotten how much she hated jock parties.

There was nothing wrong with them, exactly; she didn’t mind the drinking, or the dancing, or the dressing up. But they were always so crowded and _loud_ , full of people she didn’t know, or if she did know, didn’t care for. Mostly, though, Feyre didn’t like feeling obligated to go to these parties, a feeling which Tamlin never bothered to acknowledge.

Mor made it better, though. With someone else to look out for, Feyre almost forgot her own unease as they entered the house.

“You’re late.”

Feyre had to refrain from jumping as Tamlin suddenly materialized in front of her, beer already in hand as he pressed a sloppy kiss to her cheek. She couldn’t help but grimace in a silent apology to Mor; drunk Tamlin was even more free with public displays of affection than sober Tamlin, and that was saying something.

“Tam, this is Mor.” Feyre practically had to shout to be heard over the dull roar of the music and the sounds of people cheering over what seemed to be a particularly intense round of beer pong, and suddenly longed for the quiet and comfort of her dorm room.

“Sattari’s cousin,” Tamlin said, frowning as his attention focused on Mor, who only lifted her chin under his scrutiny.

“That’s right,” was all Mor said before turning her back to Tamlin, unofficially dismissing him. Feyre sucked in a breath at the slight; not on her boyfriend’s behalf, but Mor’s. She had witnessed Tamlin’s wrath on a bad day, but even more than that, she wanted Tamlin to get along with her new friend.

Luckily for Feyre, Tamlin didn’t seem to notice the slight, and simply tugged on Feyre’s hand. “Come on, let’s get you something to drink.”

“I don’t really feel like drinking today,” Feyre said, quietly but firmly. “Besides, Mor doesn’t know that many people here. You go hang out with your friends; we’re good here for a while.”

“They’re your friends, too, babe.”

_No, they’re not_ , Feyre thought, but said, “Go, have fun.”

Tamlin didn’t need another reminder, and slipped back into the crowd, only to be immediately apprehended by Ianthe. Feyre snorted, because while Tamlin seemed to think that everyone had ulterior motives when talking to her, he still failed to notice whenever Ianthe flirted with him.

“God, I hate that bitch,” Mor muttered when she realized who Feyre was looking at.

Feyre grinned. “Join the club.”

“I didn’t know your boyfriend was Tamlin Campbell,” Mor said suddenly.

“Um, yeah. Do you two know each other? There was kind of a weird vibe, now that I think about it.” Feyre wasn’t always the best at reading people, but in that moment, she could have sworn that Mor squirmed.

“Sort of. Not really. Not directly, I mean,” Mor corrected, frowning. “He used to be on the soccer team with my cousin, but they don’t really get along.”

“Tamlin was on the soccer team?”

“Yeah,” Mor said, oblivious to the way Feyre glanced in her boyfriend’s direction. “His freshman year, but I guess something happened and he switched to the football team to be their kicker. From what I’ve heard, there was a bit of drama around the whole thing. You didn’t know?”

“No,” Feyre replied, sounding a bit dazed even to her own ears. “He doesn’t talk about his freshman year much.”

Mor shrugged and slung an arm around Feyre’s shoulders, her smile comforting as she forged a path to the back of the house, conveniently putting what looked like the entirety of Velaris University’s student body in between them and Tamlin. “Nobody talks about freshman year. It’s embarrassing to even think about.”

Feyre managed a terse laugh. “Very, very true.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Mor said after a moment. “I’m sure it just slipped his mind.”

“For an entire year?” Feyre sighed and ran a hand through her hair. “I’m sorry, I’m being a downer. You didn’t come to a party just to play my therapist.”

“No need to apologize. What are friends for?”

-/-

Feyre wandered out to the backyard, alone, arms folded across her chest as she sought some reprieve from the smell of alcohol and sweat filling the house behind her. Mor had run into Viviane, her roommate from freshman year who also happened to be on the cheer team, and had disappeared to catch up with her at Feyre’s insistence. Tamlin had been all but absorbed by the howling pack that was the football team, and Lucien was nowhere to be found, so Feyre was on her own.

It was calming, in a way. Between sharing a dorm and spending time with her boyfriend or at practice, Feyre rarely got a moment of solitude. She loved Tamlin, Lucien, Mor, and even the majority of the cheer team, but after growing up in a cramped house with two older sisters, she had learned to cherish silence.

Feyre tilted her head up to see the stars winking into existence and let out a content sigh. Quiet.

Until it wasn’t.

“Hey, gorgeous.”

Feyre felt her spine stiffen at the sound of a clearly intoxicated college male’s voice, but didn’t turn around. If she didn’t turn around, she could pretend he wasn’t there and that he wasn’t talking to her.

“Why the cold shoulder?” The guy, along with two of his friends, approached Feyre from the side, putting her back to a wall of shrubbery once she leveled a glare at them.

“Excuse me, I have to go find my boyfriend,” Feyre said firmly. She hated to use Tamlin as a crutch, but more often than not, specifically mentioning that she was taken was the only way to ensure that drunk jocks got the hint. She moved to brush her way past the three guys cornering her and was stopped by a hand on her shoulder.

“What’s the hurry? If your boyfriend let you wander out here all by yourself, I think you can chat for a minute.”

Feyre managed to duck out of the grip of the guy she’d deemed the leader of the pack, the one who’d initially approached her, and started for the house again. They let her go this time, but there was something predatory in their gazes as she walked by, something that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. She wanted nothing more than to run into the crowd and find Tamlin or Mor - anyone who was a friendly face, but that would take too much time.

Her breathing was growing shallower by the second, cheeks suddenly unbearably warm, and Feyre knew herself well enough to recognize the warning signs of a panic attack.

_Oh God, oh God, oh God_.

What was it that her RA had told her during her freshman year? The one with the sarcastic words but kind eyes who had gone on patrols with Tamlin? If ever there was a time to remember the ridiculous preventative measures she was supposed to take to avoid situations exactly like this, it would be now.

“There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Feyre stopped dead in her tracks, right before she collided with her unintentional savior. She could have sworn that the man in front of her had emerged from the shadows; she had gotten a glance of everyone in the backyard upon stepping outside the house, but not him. She would have remembered him.

It had been ages since her fingers had itched to pick up a brush and paint for pleasure, not for a class assignment. Between working with charcoal and having to create a portrait using pointillism, Feyre’s creative muse had been suffering severely. This stranger, though, made her want to paint.

It wasn’t just that he was beautiful, because he was, he truly was. He was nearly the exact opposite of Tamlin in features, his hair dark and thick, skin somehow tan towards the end of autumn, and eyes so blue they could almost be violet. But there was something more, there, something that made Feyre do a double take. Something that made her think that he, too, had left the party to look at the stars, although the thought sounded ridiculous, even to her.

“Play along,” the stranger murmured, his smile comforting as he looked at Feyre. His expression shifted entirely as he leveled an unimpressed look on her predators. “Thanks for finding my girlfriend for me. I’d hate to think of what would have happened if someone had taken advantage of her.”

The three guys who had been chasing Feyre froze, their heads bent together and voices lowered to furious whispering. She caught the words _Sattari_ and _shit_ several times, and looked at the stranger again.

Hadn’t Sattari been the name of Mor’s cousin?

“Yeah, man, it’s no problem,” the leader of the group said casually. “Glad you found her in one piece.” And then they were all gone.

Feyre let out a breath she hadn’t know she’d been holding. “Thank you.”

The stranger shrugged and tilted his head back towards the house. “Think nothing of it. Better get back inside, though. Do you have someone who can take you back home?”

“Yeah, uh, my boyfriend and roommate are inside,” Feyre said, already making her way back. She paused when she was a few feet in front of her rescuer and added, almost hesitantly, “I’m Feyre, by the way.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Feyre. Rhys Sattari.”

Feyre nodded, once, and smiled at Rhys over her shoulder. “Thank you again.”

“I’ll gladly rescue you any time,” Rhys said, and winked. 

Feyre wasn’t sure if it was from relief at being saved from a close encounter or the fact that she had just unintentionally met Mor’s cousin, but as she walked away, she couldn’t get the image of Rhys’s comforting smile out of her mind.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for being so lovely! 
> 
> Come say hi to me on tumblr to get sneak peeks and hints about new chapters! Url is 'bravebuttercups' :)

Feyre’s ability to wake up at the crack of dawn and muster up enough energy to go to the gym constantly amazed Mor, especially when she’d heard her roommate slip into their room at near four in the morning after the party. Mor had gotten back a few hours prior, and even though she hadn’t been drinking, her head still pounded and the idea of sleeping the day away was looking more and more appealing every second she spent awake. 

One look at her phone, though, told her that she wouldn’t be going back to sleep any time soon, because Rhys had seen fit to text her  _ twenty one  _ times. She blinked at her phone a few times and groaned; while it may have been well past noon, it felt ridiculously early to be dealing with whatever crisis was happening in her cousin’s apartment.

It was a relief, then, when Mor realized that Rhys’s twenty one texts were not about Cassian getting drunk and running around nude on the football field (something that had happened  _ twice _ in his three years at Velaris University), but also extremely puzzling when she saw Feyre’s name.

She read Rhys’s most recent text, sighed in resignation, and called him.

“ _ Finally _ . How do you even sleep in this late?”

“I’ll hang up on you,” Mor said, a smile tugging on her lips despite the threat she made. 

“No, you won’t. Now that you’ve deigned to join the rest of the living world, you can help me with my problem.” She could almost hear Rhys pacing back and forth on his balcony; he never could stand still while he was on the phone. 

“What is your problem, exactly? And what does it have to do with my roommate?”

There was a pause before Rhys responded. “She’s your roommate?”

“Yes? Isn’t that why you texted me?”

“I didn’t know she was your roommate,” Rhys said, suddenly quiet. “It’s just - well, I met her last night at this ridiculous party, and -”

“You were at the party?” Mor asked, frowning. She hadn’t seen Rhys amongst the hordes of drunk college students, but he did have a tendency to somehow blend into the shadows, with people only realizing he was there if he wanted them to. “Sorry, that’s unimportant. So, you met Feyre, and then decided to text me a full-length novel?”

“No. Yes. Maybe.”

“She has a boyfriend, you know,” Mor said, not unkindly. She wasn’t looking forward to telling Rhys who, exactly, Feyre was dating. 

“Oh,” was Rhys’s carefully controlled response, but Mor could hear his disappointment. 

She took a deep breath and steeled herself for what was about to come. “You’re not going to like who it is.”

-/-

There was something to be said about exercise as escape. As Feyre picked up her pace, her running playlist blasting in her ears, she was almost able to forget the enormous hickey on her neck. 

It was a good thing that Thanksgiving break was coming up. There would be a reprieve from cheerleading practice, and she could easily hide the mark by wearing turtlenecks and scarves to avoid Nesta’s disapproving stare. But despite the fact that she could conceal the hickey, Feyre was still annoyed that she had one at all. 

She was a performer. At every game and event, she represented her team and her school. There were certain standards she was held to, images she had to uphold, that had prompted her to get her tattoos in places she knew her uniform would cover. When everyone at her high school had gotten their noses pierced, Feyre had opted not to, in anticipation of being a VU cheerleader. 

She was not, in short, supposed to have obnoxiously visible hickeys. 

And Tamlin knew that. She knew he did; had reminded him, multiple times, throughout the course of their year-long relationship. He was aware of the pains Feyre had to go to every single time he decided to mark his claim on her, but he did it anyway. And she let him, because in the moment, there was only Tamlin and the feeling of his body pressed against hers, his mouth on her neck while she tangled her fingers in his hair, and it was enough for her to forget about the consequences she knew she would face the very next day. He was always enough for her to forget her inhibitions, and they always came back in full force the minute they were apart.

Being around him was intoxicating, but Feyre was starting to think that that wasn’t a good thing. 

She’d always been guided by her head rather than her heart; she’d had to be, to ensure that she got the grades and the attention from scouts that would help her get into college. She’d barely had time to have friends in high school, much less date - if you could even call whatever she’d had with Isaac Hale dating. But she’d found freedom at Velaris University, when her position on the cheer team and her scholarship had been secured, and she’d finally allowed herself to breathe for the first time in four years. Tamlin had been a big part of that.

That was what she had to remember, Feyre decided as her feet pounded harder against the track. For all of his faults, Tamlin had helped her learn to listen to her heart again, and for that she could look past the way he often seemed to forget things that were important to her.

Couldn’t she?

-/-

Rhys stumbled and nearly fell face first when he saw her in the lobby of his apartment building. In the light of day, Feyre Archeron was even more stunning than he remembered. She had been made small from fear at the party a week ago, but she’d been beautiful nonetheless, and her eyes as she’d smiled at him had haunted his dreams ever since. 

He recognized a kindred spirit when he saw one, but the fates had never been kind to him, a fact that had been proven when Mor informed him that Feyre was dating none other than Tamlin Campbell. 

He didn’t hate Tamlin. Rhys would even go so far as to say that he understood the reasons behind Tamlin’s actions, although he couldn’t deny that he hadn’t been sorry to see the former soccer player go. Rhys had long since let go of the grudge he’d held against Tamlin’s family - the grudge his father had instilled in him - and had even made peace with Tamlin’s existence. But Mor had told him her suspicions about the nature of Feyre’s relationship with his old rival, and with Feyre standing right in front of him, it was taking all of his self control to not warn her about the man who claimed to love her. 

“Hey, if it isn’t my knight in shining armor.” Feyre turned that smile on him again, and Rhys knew that he was a goner. 

There was something about her that made him feel vulnerable, like he wanted to sit her down and lay out everything that made him who he was at her feet. But he couldn’t, not when she was dating Tamlin. 

Rhys had never thought that he could feel the loss of something that had never been his so keenly. 

“Hey, yourself,” Rhys said, as casually as he could manage. “What are you doing here? I know I would have remembered if you lived in this building.”

“Oh? And why is that?” Feyre folded her arms across her chest and arched an eyebrow at him, her tone playful enough that he decided to take a chance. 

“You’re hard to forget.”

She blushed and averted her eyes, looking anywhere but at him, and Rhys could have kicked himself for making her so obviously uncomfortable, even if she seemed a little flattered. He could practically see her debating whether or not to tell him that she was taken, and decided to spare them both from that conversation. 

“Are you waiting for someone?” Rhys asked. When he finally noticed the turtleneck that Feyre was wearing, he couldn’t help but smirk.

Feyre scowled, her hand twitching, and Rhys knew she was resisting the urge to cover the bite on her neck, regardless of the sweater she had chosen to help hide it. “I’m waiting for my sister.”

“I can let you up if you want.”

Feyre hesitated, then said, “Sure, that’d be great.”

-/-

She hadn’t been expecting to see him ever again, much less in the lobby as she impatiently waited for Elain to see her text, and she certainly hadn’t planned on being in an elevator with him to the seventh floor, because of course,  _ of course _ this ridiculously gorgeous human being was her sister’s next-door neighbor. 

Feyre found herself wondering if Rhys, along with the rest of the world, thought Elain was beautiful, and quickly shut down that thought. What did it matter to her if he did? Her sister  _ was _ beautiful, and Feyre had a boyfriend.

She didn’t need to be thinking about Rhysand Sattari, so it was unfortunate for her that the elevator in the apartment complex moved at what could only be described as a sluggish pace. 

He was a mystery, of that much Feyre was certain. She didn’t know how he’d seemed to know exactly where the mark on her neck was, and she didn’t think she wanted to. Her cheeks burned at the mere memory of it; she had endured Mor’s teasing easily enough, but for whatever reason, Rhys’s unvoiced observation made her want to defend herself. 

Not that she needed to. He was a stranger, and she was an adult. She received enough shame about her love life from Nesta. 

“I’m sorry,” Rhys said abruptly, and when Feyre turned to face him, he looked a bit ashamed. 

“What for?” She tried to think of a reason for Rhys to seem so apologetic, and failed miserably.

“For making you feel uncomfortable. I didn’t mean to.”

Feyre blinked in surprise and shook her head. Had Tamlin ever apologized for such a thing? When she smiled at Rhys, it was genuine. “You didn’t. Make me feel uncomfortable, I mean. I’m just a little tense because we’re doing Thanksgiving at my sister’s this year.”

“You don’t get along?” Rhys asked, and Feyre was struck by how similar he was to Mor. 

A part of her felt as though she should have been more surprised or concerned by how well this almost stranger could pick up on the words she left unsaid, but it was overshadowed by the sheer relief she felt that, for once, someone cared enough to read between the lines. 

Feyre was rather suddenly compelled to tell Rhys everything, everything that she hadn’t told Tamlin. “It’s not that we don’t get along,” she started to say, but was interrupted by the elevator doors opening. When she stepped out into the hall, she winced and sent Rhys a rueful look, one that she was glad to see he returned.

“Tell me the story another time? Soon?” Perhaps it was wishful thinking on Feyre’s part, but there was a hopeful note in Rhys’s voice as they walked down the hallway.

“How about now, so I don’t have to endure Nesta’s condescension at my going to VU because of a cheerleading scholarship?” Feyre countered, only half-joking. She surprised herself with the underlying bitterness in her words, and her feet stopped moving of their own accord.

Rhys frowned and reached for her, then seemed to think better of it and let his arm fall back to his side. Feyre couldn’t tell if the hollow feeling in her stomach was disappointment or the shock of realizing what an impact Nesta’s words had had on her. 

“Anyone who makes the mistake of looking down on you is a fool,” Rhys said quietly. “A blind fool, to not see how hard you push yourself in order to succeed.”

Feyre looked at him and nodded, once. “Thank you.” 

Rhys was kind enough to not mention the tears in Feyre’s eyes, and she wondered again at how easy it was to communicate with him, even when she wasn’t trying. They’d arrived at Elain’s door, but Feyre didn’t knock. She wasn’t ready to say goodbye just yet. 

“Do you want to go get coffee or something tomorrow?” Feyre blurted before she could talk herself out of what was surely a disastrous idea. She had plans with Tamlin and Lucien Friday night, but her day was free, and she didn’t want to spend it alone in her dorm or at Nesta’s apartment.

But what if Rhys thought she was asking him out? What if he hadn’t actually meant it when he’d asked for her to finish telling him the circumstances surrounding her unusual Thanksgiving? What if he said no?

She should have known better than to let her anxiety get the best of her when it came to him.

“I would love to go get coffee with you tomorrow,” Rhys said, his smile so soft and uncertain that the tension in Feyre’s shoulders eased. 

He gave her his number to text him later, and no matter how hard she tried, Feyre couldn’t wipe the grin off of her face until long after she and Elain got in the car.

-/-

Feyre fidgeted in her seat, half-heartedly poking at the turkey Nesta had prepared to stave off her sister’s inevitable accusations about her not liking the food. Her mind kept flashing back to Rhys and the new contact in her phone, and wondered if it would be odd for her to text him so soon after they’d parted. 

“You’re acting strangely,” Nesta said, but her tone held neither judgment nor curiosity. For the eldest Archeron, it was simply an observation.

Elain grinned at Feyre knowingly. “She’s been giddy ever since she picked me up.”

“Is this about that insufferable boyfriend of yours?” 

Nesta had met Tamlin once before she decided that he was a complete waste of space and had ignored him ever since, and never bothered to conceal her feelings about her younger sister’s relationship. Feyre would have craved her approval, once, but Tamlin had finally managed to convince her that Nesta’s opinion simply didn’t matter. All that mattered was the two of them.

Feyre didn’t deign to give Nesta a response, something she knew would annoy her sister to no end, and Elain hurriedly tried to fill the silence. 

“Dad called me earlier. He says happy Thanksgiving and sends his love.”

Feyre preferred the silence.

She shared a look with Nesta, the two of them perfectly in sync for once. Feyre closed her eyes briefly; Nesta hadn’t spoken to their father in almost two years now, and only Elain kept in constant contact with him. 

Feyre knew that it had been difficult for their dad after their mom had passed away. He had wanted kids, and had been as involved a parent as he could manage, but he hadn’t been prepared to raise three young girls by himself. While she wasn’t quite as reserved as Nesta, the most comfortable way for Feyre to express herself had always been art, and their father had never gotten a handle on how to read her emotions, not like he had Elain’s.

Nesta mustered up a terse smile for Elain’s sake, but breezed past the touchy subject that was Greg Archeron. “How are classes going?”

Elain’s gaze dropped to her plate as she pushed around her food. She answered Nesta’s inquiry with enough enthusiasm, and mentioned a friend from her psychology class that she swore had saved her life multiple times by that point in the academic quarter, a grin emerging as she continued to talk about Azriel. As the tension slowly dissolved, Feyre let herself relax, her thoughts drifted back to Rhys. Her phone buzzed, alerting her to a new text, and she picked it up immediately.

When she saw that it was Tamlin who had texted her, and not Rhys, she dismissed her sudden flash of disappointment.

-/-

“Hot chocolate with whip for Rhys!”

Feyre gaped at the dark, brooding male beside her, clad in a leather jacket and black jeans, and when he reached for his order, she was completely unable to prevent the laugh that burst out of her. “Your coffee order is  _ hot chocolate _ ?”

Rhys pointedly took a sip of his drink. “Evidently, it is. What’s wrong with hot chocolate?”

“Nothing’s wrong with hot chocolate. I love hot chocolate,” Feyre said, and this time, it was her turn to smirk. 

“Then why are you looking at me like that?”

Feyre waved her hand in his general direction as they found a table. “You’ve got that whole mysterious, intimidatingly handsome, artistic vibe going on, you know? You come swaggering in here wearing a leather jacket, and your sheer presence is enough to make everyone stop what they’re doing and look at you, and then you order a hot chocolate. With whipped cream.”

“What should I have ordered?” Rhys asked, laughing. “Black coffee to match my tortured soul?”

“Would you be offended if I said yes?”

Rhys leaned forward, resting his elbow on the table and resting his chin in his hand. “How could I be, when you just admitted that you find me intimidatingly handsome and mysterious?”

Feyre rolled her eyes and desperately hoped that her blush wouldn’t be too noticeable in the dim lighting of the coffee shop. When she didn’t outright deny that she found Rhys attractive, she felt a small twinge of guilt. She hadn’t planned on telling Tamlin about her meeting Rhys for coffee, even if it was completely casual, but her conscience made the rather annoying decision to come roaring to life in that moment. Tamlin wouldn’t get mad at her for telling him the truth, and if she told him, she had nothing to feel guilty about.

Feyre noticed that Rhys was staring at her and smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, I completely spaced out just now, didn’t I?”

“Thought for a thought?”

“I’m thinking,” Feyre said slowly, tracing the rim of her mug with her finger, “that even though the way we met was really weird, you’re ridiculously easy to talk to.” When she had enough nerve to look at Rhys, his expression was a blend of being thoughtful, pleased, and something else she couldn’t quite figure out. 

“I’m thinking that I’m very glad that we met, despite the circumstances,” Rhys said at last.

“I’m thinking that I’m glad that we met, too.”

More than she’d ever care to admit.


	4. Chapter Four

**Rhys:** I hope you know that I won’t be able to order hot chocolate without hearing your voice in my head from now on.

**Feyre:** Good :) that means my plan worked

**Rhys:** You’re cruel.

**Feyre:** You say that like it’s a bad thing

**Rhys:** Far from it.

Feyre grinned at her phone; she had finally left the coffee house after unintentionally spending hours there, joking with Rhys and talking about books, music, shows, classes - anything, really. It was astonishing how much they had in common. They had the same favorite author, and while their opinions on the Harry Potter movies varied greatly, the debate that had ensued was the most fun Feyre had had in a while. It was nice to simply  _ be _ for once, to not have to worry about keeping up appearances for the cheer team, her boyfriend, or her family. 

She could be brutally honest around Rhys without having to wonder if she was over-stepping or saying the wrong thing, and he’d never seemed like he was just humoring her. When Feyre had started talking about a book she’d recently finished, her hands flying as she explained the world-building and the plot as best she could without spoiling the entire story, Rhys had prodded and poked until he convinced her to tell him her favorite character, even though he’d never heard of the author. As Feyre left, Rhys had promised that he would pick up a copy of the book and let her know what he thought, as long as she made good on her promise to give Black Mirror a second chance. They’d shaken on it.

She was in high spirits as she made her way to Tamlin and Lucien’s apartment, despite the fact that she’d had to practically sprint to her car once she realized she’d lost track of time, completely caught up in her conversation with Rhys. She knocked twice on their door, and pulled Lucien in for a hug once she was inside. 

“Happy Thanksgiving,” Feyre said, squeezing Lucien once more before releasing him. Going home and seeing his family was never easy for Lucien, and he always came back with slumped shoulders and an empty smile. 

He nodded and tousled Feyre’s hair in lieu of a response. When Tamlin walked into the room, Lucien’s hand immediately dropped to hang by his side. 

“What took you so long?” Tamlin asked, although he didn’t seem too irritated. Normally, if he felt that Feyre’s punctuality was an issue, he’d make sure she was aware of his annoyance. But for now, he kissed her cheek and slung an arm around her shoulders as he guided her to the couch.

“Sorry, I was having coffee with a friend and lost track of time,” Feyre said, smiling sheepishly. She’d told herself that Tamlin wouldn’t react badly to finding out who she’d been with, but he hadn’t been in a great mood since the last football game, and she didn’t want to be the one to ruin it. 

“I thought you told Ianthe that you were too busy to hang out with her today.”

Feyre glanced at Lucien to share her indignation, but he had already moved to the small kitchen. “Yeah, because I already had plans.”

“Plans with who?” 

It wasn’t an absurd thing to ask. Aside from Tamlin, Lucien, and the cheer team, the only other person she regularly interacted with now was Mor, but her roommate had gone home for the break. Tamlin knew all of her friends, and was probably only wondering which of them she’d chosen in favor of Ianthe.

But then Feyre’s eyes flickered from Tamlin’s clenched jaw to the stiffness in his shoulders and she said, as casually as she could, “Mor’s cousin.” 

Through gritted teeth, Tamlin said, “You were alone with Rhysand Sattari.”

It wasn’t a question, but Feyre nodded anyway, frowning. She knew there had been some sort of feud between Tamlin and Rhys in the past; Mor had just about said as much. But Rhys had assured her that whatever grudge he’d held, he’d put behind him, and she realized she’d automatically expected her boyfriend to have done the same.

There was a loud thud as Tamlin punched the wall closest to him. Feyre couldn’t help but let out a cry and flinched, stumbling backwards into the kitchen and instinctively putting as much distance between them as possible. She collided hard with Lucien, his hands coming down on her shoulders to steady her. She twisted in his grip to look at him, to see her own shock and distress mirrored in his face, but aside from the grim set to his mouth, he didn’t seem surprised. 

“You shouldn’t be spending time with him,” Tamlin snarled, either oblivious to Feyre’s reaction or uncaring. 

She wasn’t sure which was worse. 

“He ruins everything he touches, him and his entire family,” Tamlin continued, crossing the living room in a few strides. As he got closer, Feyre shrunk back against Lucien, and when Tamlin noticed, his eyes narrowed. “I mean it, Feyre. Stay away from him.”

Feyre wanted to protest, wanted to shout that he couldn’t tell her who she could be friends with, that he was in no position to tell her what she could and could not do. A year ago, she would have. But as she stared back up at Tamlin, no matter how desperately she searched, she couldn’t find a hint of the shy, open-hearted boy she’d first met.

Her retort died in her throat, and she stayed close to Lucien when he quietly offered to take her home, both of them ignoring the glare that Tamlin sent their way.

-/-

“He’s been having a rough time lately,” Lucien mumbled as he parked his car. Feyre unbuckled her seatbelt but remained slumped in the passenger’s seat. 

“I’ve never seen him that upset before.”

Lucien sighed and ran a hand over his face, and Feyre got the distinct impression that he was avoiding looking at her. “Tam went to see his dad yesterday, and let’s just say it did not go well.”

“He seemed okay when I called him,” Feyre said, eyebrows furrowing together as she tried to recall any signs that she’d overlooked the day before. Had she been so wrapped up in thoughts about another guy that she’d been insensitive to her boyfriend? Had she failed Tamlin somehow? What kind of person did that make her?

“He didn’t want to worry you,” Lucien said, interrupting Feyre’s inner beratement of herself. “And he doesn’t like to talk about his dad if he can help it.”

Feyre swallowed hard; what did she know about Tamlin’s family? As far as she knew, it had been just him, his mother, and his two older brothers growing up. She’d never even heard him mention his father before. 

She had learned more about Rhys’s family in a couple of hours than she’d learned about Tamlin’s in over a year of dating. 

“How come Tam doesn’t talk about his dad?”

Lucien paused. “It’s really not my place to say. You should ask him.”

Feyre forced down her surge of irritation; after all, he had been Tamlin’s roommate long before she’d met either of them, and she knew firsthand how loyal Lucien could be. “Considering how he just reacted, I don’t think he’s going to be too receptive to questions for a while. At least tell me what the deal is with him and Rhys’s family.”

“Can we at least start drinking before I do this?”

“Lucien.”

“Fine,” Lucien said begrudgingly. “I met Tamlin after most of this happened, so I don’t know the whole story, but he basically grew up with Rhysand because their dads worked together. Around the time they entered middle school, Rhysand’s father entered the local election and won, but there was some scandal not long after. That’s why he doesn’t have the same last name as Morrigan, even though they’re related through their fathers. After the scandal, Rhysand’s mom kicked his dad out of the house and Rhysand took her name instead. He refused to have anything to do with his dad.”

“I still don’t understand why Tamlin hates him so much.”

Lucien’s gaze focused on the dash of his car, his lips a thin line. Feyre might have felt guilty for pressing him when he was obviously conflicted, but she had the right to know why Tamlin felt like he had the authority to tell her what company she could keep. 

“They managed to keep the story contained for a while, but it would have been leaked to the press eventually, and Rhysand’s father didn’t want to jeopardize his new position. So he had a member of his team take the fall instead.”

Feyre froze. “No.”

“His dad is the reason that Tamlin’s is in prison. I’m sorry, Feyre.”

-/-

When Mor returned to her dorm at the end of Thanksgiving break, she wasn’t expecting to find Feyre curled up in her bed, blankets pulled up to her chin, laptop balanced precariously on the bedside table along with a giant bowl of popcorn while an episode of Black Mirror flashed on the screen. Mor glanced at the clock and frowned.

“It’s not like you to be in bed in the middle of the afternoon on a Sunday.”

“Haven’t been in the mood to go out,” Feyre mumbled, hitting the spacebar on her laptop to pause her show with more force than necessary. 

“What’s up with you?” Mor asked, perching on the foot of Feyre’s bed. “Was dinner at your sister’s awful?”

“I mean, yes, but that’s not what’s bothering me,” Feyre said, sitting up at last. She drew her knees to her chest without meeting Mor’s concerned gaze. “Is it true that Rhys’s dad is the reason why Tamlin’s is locked away for a crime he didn’t commit?”

Mor couldn’t help it; her jaw dropped. Of all the things she expected Feyre to confide in her, the knowledge about what had passed between the Campbells and the Carnahans was not among them. 

She hadn’t seen her uncle in years, though her own father often accused her of turning her back on her family. She never told him that she was actually choosing not to, to not betray the only family of hers whose opinion mattered. She never told him that she knew where her loyalties lay, and they weren’t with him, or his embezzler of a brother. She sided with Rhys, always. 

Even if it meant risking her friendship with Feyre. 

“Tamlin told you this.” A statement. Mor didn’t need to ask to know. 

Feyre’s eyes remained fixed on her comforter. “Yes.”

Mor stiffened as her internal lie detector came to life. She was a creature who acted on instinct, and every instinct in her was screaming that Feyre was not telling the truth. But why would Feyre lie about something like this?

“Feyre, look at me,” Mor said slowly, and waited until her roommate complied before continuing. “You can’t judge or define Rhys based on his father’s actions. Not only is it incredibly unfair, but you have no idea what his family -  _ our _ family - went through at the time. Don’t mistake me; his father is an awful person. Truly, undeniably awful. But if there’s anything I know about my cousin, it’s that Rhys is  _ nothing _ like his dad.

“Tamlin can blame his family’s misfortune on Rhys as much as he wants, but they were both children when this happened. I don’t mean to invalidate his feelings. I’m sure that some of them are even justified. But he doesn’t get to speak badly of my cousin, and neither do you. If that’s going to be a problem, I can ask to be assigned to a different room, although I’d really rather not. I like being your friend, and I know Rhys does too.” Mor reached out to grab Feyre’s hand. “Rhys doesn’t have a lot of people looking out for him. Please don’t abandon him because of what his father did.”

There were tears threatening to fall on both of their parts when Feyre squeezed Mor’s hand and whispered, “Okay.”

-/-

Feyre hesitated, her fist still poised to knock on the door in front of her. She had driven to the apartment building with unwavering certainty in what she was about to do, but now that she was standing on a threshold that, once crossed, she could never return from, she wasn’t sure. 

But she had made a promise to Mor, and Feyre Archeron always kept her promises.

The door opened barely a second after she knocked, and if Rhys was the most beautiful male she’d ever seen, this guy was a close runner-up. It didn’t hurt that he was shirtless, too.

“Hey, you’re early. Give me a second to grab my notes and a shirt and we can - oh. You’re not Elain.”

Feyre blinked, the motion returned by the stranger. “Um, no, I’m not. I’m her sister, Feyre.”

“If you’re looking for her, she’s one door over.”

“I’m not looking for Elain. I’m looking for Rhys Sattari? Sorry, I think I may have the wrong apartment,” Feyre said, carefully keeping her eyes on the stranger’s face. He was classically handsome, the kind of person she studied in art class and could never manage to transfer onto canvas. She briefly wondered if everyone who lived on Elain’s floor was ridiculously attractive and if that was a requirement to become a tenant. 

“No, you’re in the right place. Come on in. I’m Azriel, by the way.” 

As Feyre walked past the stranger - Azriel - into the apartment he shared with Rhys, she got the vague sense that his hazel eyes were doing a rapid fire assessment of her. The feeling was a far cry from the one she normally got around the football team, the hair on the back of her neck standing up under the weight of their leering. No, the feeling she got from Azriel was more - calculating. Assessing. An attempt to figure out what business she had with his roommate. She would have done the same thing, had someone suddenly appeared looking for Mor or one of her sisters. 

“It’s nice to meet you. Sorry for barging in like this,” Feyre said sheepishly. 

Azriel shrugged and held up a plate of cookies, a hint of a smile making an appearance. “It’s no problem. Want a cookie? Elain made them, so they’re not inedible, I promise.”

Feyre took one; Elain had always been a fantastic baker. “So you must be the Azriel who’s saved her life in psychology several times this quarter,” Feyre said, watching as Azriel hastily took a bite of his own cookie to stall and come up with a sufficient answer. 

“It’s more like she’s the one who’s saved me,” Azriel protested, a faint blush tingeing his cheeks. 

Feyre smiled to herself and hoped Azriel wouldn’t notice. Interesting.

Azriel cleared his throat. “Rhys should be back any minute now. You’re lucky our other roommate isn’t home right now,” Azriel said, his smile returning. “He would’ve convinced you that he didn’t even know someone named Rhys.”

“Wow, your roommate kind of sounds like an ass.”

“You can’t spell Cassian without ass,” Azriel said with a shrug, effectively startling a laugh out of Feyre. 

“Feyre?”

Feyre jumped in her seat a little at the sound of Rhys’s voice. He had paused in setting his keys on the table next to the door, his hand hovering in the air as he realized that she was sitting in his apartment. 

So maybe she should have given him a head’s up after all. 

“Hey, sorry, I should have asked if it was okay to come over. I just really need to talk to you.” Feyre tried to keep her tone as neutral as possible, but she doubted her success as Rhys and Azriel exchanged a look.

“You know what, I’m late for studying with Elain. It was nice meeting you, Feyre,” Azriel said, and grinned at Rhys when he didn’t think Feyre would notice. “Hope to see you around again soon.”

Feyre didn’t miss the way Rhys patted Azriel on the back as he stood up to leave, or the way that Azriel winced at the contact, but she had a mission she was intent on accomplishing, and aside from a cookie (or two), nothing would distract her.

“So, to what do I owe this pleasure?” Rhys asked, reaching across Feyre to snag a cookie and drawing her attention to the fact that he was wearing his button-up shirt rolled up to his elbows. She was starting to wonder if he somehow knew all of her weaknesses.

“I heard about what happened between your family and Tamlin’s,” Feyre said quietly. There was no ignoring the way Rhys immediately tensed, the cookie he held crumbling slightly in his grip. 

Instead of making excuses or insisting he tell her his side of the story, Rhys only said, “I understand if you no longer want to be friends with me.”

Feyre’s heart broke for him in that moment. His voice was steady, his face impassive, but there was a sense of resignation that reminded her of what Mor had told her. Well, Rhys would have one more person to look out for him, at the very least. 

“That’s not what I want,” Feyre reassured him, her tone leaving no room for debate. Rhys looked at her with wide eyes, and she knew immediately that she’d made the right choice. “I just wanted to let you know that I heard, and I don’t care. Your family does not define you, Rhys.”

Rhys cleared his throat and nodded stiffly. “Thank you.”

Feyre answered him with a wide smile. “It’s nothing. Really.”

“It’s not nothing,” Rhys said firmly. 

“If you say so,” Feyre said, shrugging. She was by no means ungracious, but there was something about the sincerity of Rhys’ gratitude that made her uncomfortable. 

Rhys studied her for a moment and seemed to come to a decision. When Feyre met his eyes, merely said, “I was planning on watching Black Mirror. Care to join me?”

“Okay, but I’m  _ not _ watching ‘Be Right Back’ again. I don’t care how much you like that episode - ‘Hang the DJ’ was ten times better, and a lot less disturbing.”

“You’ll change your mind once you see ‘San Junipero,’ Feyre darling.”

It was a bit awkward as they settled onto the couch and Rhys pulled up Netflix, but then, such was always the case when two relatively new friends watched a show together for the first time. By the middle of the episode, though, Feyre’s feet were in Rhys’s lap, his hand resting comfortably on her legs, giving him easy access to pinch her if he felt like she wasn’t paying enough attention to the show. He couldn’t complain, though, not when Feyre’s only distraction was him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come talk to me on tumblr @bravebuttercups! :)


End file.
